


Anise Rides Again

by Redrikki



Category: Stargate SG-1, Supernatural
Genre: Crossover, Gen, Minor Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-06
Updated: 2013-05-14
Packaged: 2017-12-10 13:19:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 12,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/786467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Redrikki/pseuds/Redrikki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While delivering vital information to Earth, Anise is forced to take a new host.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The engines rattled ominously as they prepared to exit hyper-space. Anise hissed as the jolt sent pain lancing through the wound in Freya’s side. The alliance between the Tok’ra and the Tau’ri had soured as of late, but Earth was still the closest planet where they could expect to receive medical attention and contact the Tok’ra High Council. They had never seen it from space before and to Freya’s concussed and dazed mind the swirling masses of sea and clouds and land resembled the zatark detector output. Anise tried to push her host’s confused thoughts and her own worries aside as she aimed for the mountains where she knew the Stargate to be. The ship groaned and buckled under heat and pressure of re-entry and they braced for impact.

*****

The forest was eerily quiet as Anise dragged Freya’s battered body from the remains of their cargo ship. Their landing had left a swath of downed trees but they seemed to have avoided the danger of fire. They left the wreck behind and headed off at a shambling pace for the paved road they’d seen from above where it wound through the hills like a great black snake.

It seemed to take years to reach the road, years in which Freya’s breathing became increasingly erratic as her wound bled freely. Anise kept up a steady steam of endorphins and comforting words, but with each step Freya’s consciousness fluttered dangerously like an unshielded candle in a windstorm. They reached their goal but there was no triumph. **_Forgive me, friend,_** Freya gasped, falling to her knees on the black stone. **_I can go no further._**

**_No,_** Anise cried as her host’s heart faltered, but there was no response. Her other half was gone and Anise was truly alone in a way she had not been since her earliest days. She could maintain the body for a only a short while without Freya but, had the mission been any less vital, she would have gladly died with her friend. As it was, she forced the dead woman’s blood to pump and her lungs to draw earth’s crisp air waiting, most likely in vain, for the of coming aid. 

The animal noises that had been missing when they landed began to pick up again as Anise lay there concentrating on her breathing. They were high pitched and strangely melodic, but underneath them she detected a low and growing rumble too regular and steady to be natural. Anise turned her head just in time to see a large black land vehicle speed around the curve of the road and come to an abrupt halt before her. The vehicle’s wheels were strangely grooved and she could see a small reddish pebble embedded in the left one before her vison sputtered and stuttered like the vehicle’s engine.

“Hey, lady, are you all right?” Anise had missed the man’s approach, but he must have come from the vehicle which now sat quiet with it’s door hanging open. He was young, mid-twenties at most, with wide green eyes and a constellation of freckles laid out across flawless bone structure. He was the kind of male Freya would have found most attractive and Anise’s vision greyed as her heart broke at the idea.

“Hey, no. Stay with me.” His voice seemed to come from a long way away as his hands pushed rhythmically at her chest. Her ribs creaked in protest and the planet’s air sat heavy in her lungs like weapons-grade naqahdah. The man’s lips brushed hers. He was offering her salvation and she took it.

*****

The sun was lower over the treetops and the air cooler when she woke again. The strain of maintaining Freya’s body had taken more out of her than she would have expected. She turned her head to look at her fallen friend. Her face was coated with blood from the gash on her forehead and she looked so much smaller than Anise remembered feeling when they were together. The man’s body she now wore seemed awkward and his clothes too loose and heavy as she pulled them to their feet.

There was a shrill noise emanating from the pocket of their coat that her new host sluggishly identified as a phone. The man was still half asleep and dazed from their blending so it was up to Anise to answer the communication device. “Greetings.”

“Dean? Is that you?” It was a man’s voice, older with a rumble as deep as the land vehicle’s. “You sound a little...strange.”

Anise prepared to explain the situation when she recalled that the Stargate program and the Tok’ra were a secret on this planet. “Really?” she hedged, this time using her host’s vocal cords without any modification. “There must be something strange with your phone.”

“Yeah,” the man agreed with a sigh. “Now where the hell have you been?” 

“I,” Anise stuttered, startled by the man’s sudden anger, “I fell asleep.”

Disapproval and disappointment seemed to radiate from the tiny communication device. “Damn it, Dean! You were supposed to be on the road by now. Get your head in the game and your ass in gear,” the man barked. 

There was something in his tone that reminded Anise of Colonel O’Neill delivering an order and she responded as she had heard Major Carter do. The snappy “Yes, sir” seemed to have mollified the man somewhat and his final instructions regarding their rendezvous in a boulder were delivered in a much calmer manner. Anise completed the exchange feeling as rattled and abraded though she had walked naked through a sandstorm on Vorash, but her new host, Dean, seemed more alert for all the yelling.

**_I need to get to Cheyenne Mountain,_** Anise said. 

**_Wha?_** Responded her host, clearly not as alert as she’d hoped. **_Dad said Boulder._**

Anise sighed. She’d forgotten how confusing and difficult the initial moments after a blending could be for the host. Unfortunately she really didn’t have time to deal with it. **_It is imperative that I get to Cheyenne Mountain._**

Dean knew the name; Anise could sense the glimmer of recognition it invoked. **_That’s in—No, wait._** His adrenalin levels spiked as a sudden rush of fear, panic and anger swept through them like the shockwave of a blast. **_What the hell are you? Demon!_**

Their knees gave out and sent them crashing back to the blacktop beside Freya’s cooling body. Anise’s mind reeled with the implications while Dean frantically searched his memory for bits of helpful Latin. He hadn’t know about her kind, hadn’t know what he offered, hadn’t offered even and she was no better now than a Goa’uld. **_Peace,_** Anise gasped as Dean assailed her mind with a garbled exorcism ritual. **_Peace,_** she offered, tamping down the adrenalin and turning on the serotonin, oxytocin and vasopressin. **_I am sorry for what I have done, but I need to get to Cheyenne Mountain. The fate of the galaxy may be at stake. Look._**

The words and hormones had the desired calming effect, slowing the host’s heart rate, making him more compliant. Anise returned to Dean control of their body, opening her mind wide to let her host see the truth. “Alright,” he said, laboriously climbing to his feet. “Alright,” he repeated, running his hand along the flank of his vehicle, seemingly drawing additional strength and resolve from the touch. Through Freya’s eyes the vehicle had been ungainly and primitive, but through Dean’s the Impala was as beautiful and fleet as a falling star. “I’ll take you there.” 

Anise eagerly steered him towards the car. **_Wait,_** he demanded and Anise relinquished control in puzzlement. Hadn’t they had a deal?. “Look, I’ll get you there, but only I drive my girl.” She would prefer to be in control, Dean’s tentative cooperation might very well fade with the hormones after all, but for now he could be the one behind the wheel.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's an intruder on the surface demanding access to the Stargate. It like _deja vu_ all over again and not the wacky fun time-loop kind.

Jack, Daniel and General Hammond headed down the corridor towards the holding cell. An intruder had been picked up on the surface demanding access to the Stargate. It was _deja vu_ all over again and not the wacky time-loop kind. “Correct me if I’m wrong,” Jack said, very deliberately keeping the worry from his voice, “but haven’t we done this before?”

From the tightness of the General’s smile Jack knew he wasn’t the only one thinking it was all a little too shades of Hathor for comfort. “Let’s hope not,” the General said, nodding to the guard to open the holding cell door.

The prisoner standing with his hands zip-tied behind his back looked more like a 20-something from the neighborhood bar and less like a scantily-clad Goa’uld queen bent on galactic domination. With the guy’s scruffy clothes and five o’clock shadow Jack could almost believe he was some geek who’d seen one too many episodes of _Wormhole X-Ttreme!_ at least until the kid’s eyes glowed. “General Hammond, Colonel O’Neill, Dr. Jackson,” he greeted them each with a nod, his voice reverberating snake-style.

Jack glanced at the General for the go ahead to take the lead on the interrogation. The Goa’uld had been pretty polite so far but, crown of marble crack aside, so had Hathor. Right before she started taking over the base. “I see you know who we are,” Jack began. “And you might be?”

The snake had the gall to look affronted that they hadn’t immediately recognized his no doubt godly self. “It is I, Anise,” he announced.

Jack blinked. He really hadn’t seen that one coming. “So, Anise? That’s a new look for you.”

“Freya has died,” their Anise impersonator said, Oscar-worthy grief flitting across his features. “This is my new host,” he explained, spreading the host’s arm’s wide to give them a better view.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Daniel offered, his eyes wide and extra sympathetic behind his glasses. “You’ll understand if we’re a little skeptical though.”

The Goa’uld nodded. “Of course. Among the Tok’ra this is what we have passwords for. Hmm, something only we would know...” He frowned, worrying his lower lip as he considered. “Colonel O’Neill, –he turned to Jack– “during the incident in which we believe you to be a zatark, Freya told you that, while I was interested in Dr. Jackson, she found you most attractive. You turned her down. Of course,” he added with a smirk which seemed uniquely suited to the host’s face, “Dean isn’t interested in either of you, so no worries there.”

General Hammond looked momentarily thrown by the most awkward password ever, but rallied quickly. “If you’ll excuse us,” he said to Anise before gesturing for Jack and Daniel to join him in the hall. “Is that accurate?”

“Well, Sir, I can’t speak to the last part but, ah..” Jack coughed, shuffling his feet. Getting propositioned by a hot alien shouldn’t be this embarrassing. “She did come on to me and I did turn her down.”

“So you think that man is really Anise?” The General asked.

“Oh, its definitely her.” Jack frowned. Well not any more. “Him,” he corrected but that wasn’t quite right either. “It?” He turned to Daniel. “There’s got to be a special pronoun for this.”

“Actually, funny you should ask that,” Daniel began, launching into some lecture on Goa’uld linguistics Jack immediately tuned out in favor of watching Hammond order the SFs to cut Anise loose.

General Hammond and Anise rejoined them in the hallway as Daniel prattled on about gender preferences and identity issues among the Tok’ra. “It is imperative that I use your Stargate,” Anise announced, absently rubbing her host’s wrists to restore feeling. “I have vital information which much be relayed to the High Council.” 

“Of course,” the General agreed, gesturing for Anise to join him as he lead the way to the control room.

Jack and Daniel fell in behind the pair, giving Jack an excellent view of the host’s artfully spiked hair. There was just something so un-Tok’ra-like about the kid’s whole ensemble from the ratty jeans to the battered leather coat. “So, Anise,” Jack said conversationally, “I can’t help but notice you coming in through the back door.”

The Tok’ra’s step faltered momentarily and Jack knew he’d struck a nerve. “We were on a mission on Dualla. Our numbers have dwindled so that even those of us less martially inclined are being sent into the field. Freya was injured and our transport damaged in the escape. Earth was the nearest friendly planet, but our ship did not survive re-entry and”–Anise swallowed convulsively–“Freya did not survive the crash.”

General Hammond turned to face the Tok’ra, the vein in his temple beginning to pulse. “Are you saying,” he asked in the slow, deliberate tone that meant he was trying to rein in his temper, “that your host is from earth?”

“Yes,” Anise said with a smile, completely missing the warning signs. “His name is Dean Winchester and he was born in a city on your planet known as Lawrence, Kansas.”

His suspicions confirmed, Jack felt sick while the General looked nearly incandescent with rage. Daniel, however, looked puzzled. “Sorry, I’m confused,” he said, raising his hand like they were in class. “I though the Tok’ra only took willing hosts. How did he you get him to agree to this?”

“It was a mistake.” Anise looked chagrined, hanging his host’s head and glancing up at them through his eyelashes like a little boy caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “He was attempting to provide medical assistance in the form of CPR and I...misinterpreted his actions.”

Of course he had. It was never the Tok’ra’s fault. After all, Jolinar never meant to highjack Carter, just like Kanan never meant to kidnap Jack and leave his ass to Ba’al. Anise clearly hadn’t just grabbed the first body she came to so she could finish her oh so vital mission; it was the host’s fault for trying to be helpful. Jack opened his mouth to call bull shit when the General beat him to it. “The fact remains that you took over an unwilling civilian,” he said, sounding deceptively calm. “We will contact the Tok’ra, but until you find a willing host I can not allow you to leave this planet.”

“What?” Anise’s eyes flashed dangerously. “You have no right to keep me here.”

“You’re damn right I do!” Hammond exploded, the force of his anger pinning the Tok’ra up against the wall and making Jack think about a retreat to minimum safe distance. The General’s face was brick-red and the vein in his temple pounded like a drum. “I took an oath to protect the citizens of this country,” he roared. “And I’ll be damned if I let you kidnap one of them. You are not leaving this planet!”

*****

Jack thought it must have been the pie. Anise was eating it like he had a deep, personal grudge against it, attacking it brutally with his fork before scooping it up and chomping down with more force then necessary. Jack stood at the end of the chow line and watched the Tok’ra finish one slice and start on the next before heading over to join him.

“Have you heard from the High Council?” Anise demanded even before Jack’s butt made it into the seat.

Jack shook his head and debated starting with meatloaf or the dessert. He pulled the pie in closer. “No one’s answering the phone,” he said. “How’s the pie?” He asked, digging in. 

Anise tossed aside the fork in disgust. “It is excessively sweet,” he complained.

“Then why are you eating it?” Jack asked. After all, most people stopped after the first slice of something they didn’t like. If this was some bizarre attempt at punishment for breaking the Tok’ra code than pie was a weird sort of penance.

The Tok’ra sighed, scrubbing his face with his hands. “He likes it.”

It took Jack a second to figure out that by _he_ Anise meant _Dean_. Now that was interesting. Had Kanan even given a crap about what Jack wanted? Funny how Anise was considerate enough to eat something the host liked but enough of a control freak to be the one holding the fork. “You could always let him eat it,” Jack suggested just to see what the response would be.

There was a subtle shift of muscles that telegraphed Dean taking over even before he lowered his hands from his face and began to dig into his pie with genuine enthusiasm. “How’s the pie?” Jack asked with a smile.

“Awesome,” Dean slurred around his mouthful of pie.

“Jack,” Jack introduced himself, extending his hand. Anise knew who he was, but Dean didn’t. Or maybe he did, but actual introductions were more polite. And to think Daniel said Jack wouldn’t know polite if he fell over it. 

The kid swallowed his pie and gave Jack’s hand a brief, yet strong, shake. “Dean.” 

“So,” Jack began but trailed off when he met Dean’s expectant gaze. “Ah...” What the hell was he supposed to say to the guy? Welcome to the SGC, sorry about the snake in the head? There’s an intergalactic war on and how about them Yankees?

Dean glanced away, tapping his fork absently on the plate. “Wow, awkward,” he muttered and coughed pointedly. “So, ah, Anise tells me you’ve had your own close encounter of the crappy kind.”

Jack winced. That was one way of putting it. “It was, ah, bad,” he agreed, staring blankly at the table with his mind back at Ba’al’s. “But I had friends looking out for me,” Jack pulled himself out of the memories. “Is there anyone looking for you?” he asked, looking up into Dean’s eyes.

“Oh, crap!” Dean groaned. “My Dad’s gonna kill me.” He scrubbed his face in a gesture Anise must have borrowed earlier. “I was supposed to meet him in Bolder.”

“Think he’d buy you being possessed?” Jack quipped. Dean looked less amused and more calculating and Jack made a mental note to make sure the kid signed a non-disclosure form before he left and maybe track down his old man too. “So, no one else?” he confirmed, not really looking forward to dealing with a missing person’s report. “Don’t have some girl wondering why you stood her up?”

The kid’s eyes flew wide in horror. “Oh, my god,” he gasped. “My baby!”

Jack’s stomach dropped. “Your baby?” he asked around the sudden tightness in his throat. He could picture Dean’s screaming toddler trapped in a car seat or abandoned in a stroller at a shopping mall, sacrificed like Shayla on the altar of the sacred mission.

Dean nodded miserably. “Those guards took my keys. She’s gonna get towed,” he said, his eyes filled with pleading desperation.

Jack frowned; now he was confused. Keys? Towed? What? Kid’s didn’t get towed. “Wait, are you talking about your _car_?”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things aren't going too well for the Tok'ra and it's time to cowboy up.

The year before he died Charlie was diagnosed with ADD. The guidance councilor had said something about excessive fidgeting and trouble focusing. To be completely honest, Jack had been a little busy making chains with the paperclips on the woman’s desk to catch some of the finer points, but he wouldn’t be surprised if Dean’s father had had a similar conversation. Maybe it was the contrast. Anise had kept a tight rein during the two days they’d been here and Dean’s mealtime appearances were kind of jarring. Anise was regal, controlled, still and Dean, well, wasn’t.

Dean ate everything, even the commissary’s too-dry meatloaf, like he was starring in the food-sex scene in _Tom Jones,_ but now he broke off his edible romance to stare at Daniel in horror. “Dude, how have you not seen them?” He demanded, appalled at Daniel’s ignorance. “They’re like an essential piece of our cultural heritage.”

“Indeed,” Teal’c agreed gravely. “I have seen the original trilogy numerous times.”

Dean nodded emphatically. “See? And he” –he flapped a hand at Teal’c– “is an _alien_. What’s your excuse? Were you raised in a cave by really nerd-y wolves?” 

Daniel sputtered as Dean and Teal’c tag-teamed him with reasons to watch _Star Wars._ Jack hid his smile behind his coffee mug. Carter was going to be sorry she’d passed up lunch for a doohickey when she heard about this. Well, maybe not, but she’d be sorry she missed the blue jell-O.

Teal’c was in the middle of a surprisingly lengthy lecture on the deeper meaning behind Darth Vader’s character arc when the PA summoned them the control room. Jack stared longingly at his dessert as he headed out. Behind him, Dean and his SF shadow scrambled to follow.

Dean dodged past Daniel and Teal’c to fall in beside Jack. “Do you think it’s the Tok’ra?” He asked, shoveling a fork-ful of pie into his mouth. 

Jack frowned at the plate in the younger man’s hand. “You’re actually bringing that?” Why hadn’t he thought of that? The General probably wouldn’t mind too much as long as he didn’t talk with his mouth full. 

Dean gave him a look. “Dude, _pie_!” he indicated the dessert with his fork. It was, Jack had to admit, a good point. It would have been a better point with cake, but you love the one you’re with. 

Carter was already in the control room, seated in at the computer and conferring with General Hammond when they arrived. The General looked up as they arrived. “Oh, good. You brought Anise,” he said, evidently missing key Dean indicators like the pie and the way he was checking Carter out. Then again, Jack was pretty sure the General had never actually met the kid when he _was_ the kid. And they did look alike, sort of like identical twins with radically different personalities. Maybe they should invest in one of those Tollan collar thingies so they could always know who was talking. 

The sound of the gate firing up interrupted Jack’s musings. Walter sang out the chevrons while Carter did the boring exposition thing. “Since we’ve been unable to raise the Tok’ra on the radio we’re going to send a MALP through,” she explained, gesturing to where the MALP sat waiting at the base of the ramp. Dean jumped as the gate kawooshed open and Jack smirked. Seeing newbies’ reactions never got old. You’d think Anise would have warned him though. 

“Here we go,” Carter murmured to herself as she steered the MALP up the ramp and through the event horizon. “We’re receiving telemetry,” Carter announced after a few seconds as a view of an unassuming wall of Tok’ra tunnel appeared on the monitor. Carter began a slow pan of the room. Slumped by the wall, about 45 degrees into the pan, was a dead Tok’ra. He wasn’t anyone Jack recognized, but the uniform was unmistakable.

There was a distinct plop like the sound of a slice of cherry pie hitting the floor, followed by the muffled clatter of a fallen fork and plate. Jack turned just in time to see Dean’s eyes flash as Anise took over. “We must go,” Anise declared. 

There was sympathy in General Hammond’s eyes as he turned to face Anise. “We will be sending a team,” he agreed, “but I can not let you leave this planet.”

“They’re my people,” Anise protested, grief and desperation clear in his voice. Jack wondered who the dead man had been. A friend? Colleague? Lover? 

“I understand that,” Hammond agreed gently, “but they’re not Mr. Winchester’s.”

A subtle something shifted in the set of his shoulders and Jack knew Dean was back in charge even before he opened his mouth. “Look,” he said, “ I’m not running off to join the Tok’ra circus, but I say we cowboy up and deal with this.” He gestured angrily toward the monitor and the image of the dead Tok’ra. 

“Cowboy up?” The General repeated with genuine amusement. “Son,” he chuckled, “do you even know how to use a gun?”

Dean bristled like an affronted cat. “Since I was seven,” he snapped. 

Teal’c did his raised eyebrow of surprise. “Is that not unusual among the Tau’ri?” He asked.

“Damn right it is,” Jack growled. He had the sudden urge to hunt down old man Winchester and give him a piece of his mind. What the hell had the man been thinking? What the hell kind of parent gave his _seven-year-old_ a gun? It was a miracle nothing had happened, a miracle he still had a son.

Dean ignored them both, his eyes still locked on the General. “Sir, no one here knows those tunnels like Anise does. You need to find the Tok’ra. You need to figure out what’s going on. _We_ can do that.” Hammond still looked skeptical. After all, how hard would it be for Anise to be pulling the strings here? Jolinar did a damn fine Carter impersonation and they actually knew her well enough that they should have been able to spot the difference. “Look,” said Dean, clearly getting annoyed, “the sooner we find these people the sooner I can get your damn space demon out of my head.”

General Hammond sighed. “Son,” he said, “I can’t just clear a civilian for gate travel.”

“Ah” –Daniel raised his hand– “I’m a civilian,” he pointed out. “You cleared me.” Heck, they’d cleared everyone from Daniel’s grandfather to Felger and Coombs. At least Dean wasn’t an elderly mental patient or a complete idiot. 

The General sighed again. “Colonel,” he said, turning to Jack, “ you will be leading the mission.” 

So it was Jack’s call then. Dean turned to appeal to him, determination in his eyes. If it had been Anise looking out of them Jack would have said no, but, as it was...“Let’s give him a gun,” Jack said with shrug. “We’ll see if he qualifies.”

*****

Three hours later, it was SG-1 plus guest at the bottom of the ramp, suited up and waiting for the next gate out.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The rescue mission to Dualla does not go as planned.

They stepped through the event horizon with Dean in control. They had argued about it for a good half an hour before Anise had conceded that even though it was _her_ mission, Dean was the one who knew how to use the weapons. And there were a lot of weapons. There was the government-issue Beretta at his hip, his own Colt 1911 nestled at the small of his back and an iron knife with silver inlays in his boot. The General may have denied Dean his own P90, but with the vials of salt, lighter fluid and M &M’s in his pockets he felt, if not ready for anything, then certainly for a whole lot of violence.

SG-1 had begun to fan out through the room, even as Dean stumbled from the gate, still dazed and nauseated from the trip. They moved precisely, deliberately, sweeping their guns up and down, back and forth as they spread out across the room. **_What are they doing?_**

**_They’re clearing the room_**. Dean's memories explaining the purpose where simple words failed. He watched SG-1 with a practiced eye as they worked, perfectly synced and acutely aware of each other despite the distance. **_They’re good_** , he added, his approval tinged with a hint of sadness. He’d been part of a team like that once.

“Clear,” the Colonel declared. He and Teal’c took up position on either side of the room’s only door, couching down to present smaller targets with their weapons trained on the corridor. “Daniel, send the MALP home,” he ordered.

Dr. Jackson moved to the dialing device in the center of the room while Anise steered them to where Bellis lay slumped against the wall just as the video had shown hours before. **_You do know he’s dead, right?_** Dean asked gently.

**_I know_** , Anise confirmed even as she reached out to touch him. Bellis had been her brother, her friend. Bellis had been brilliant and shy with a dry and often hidden sense of humor. His host Jothy had been witty and charming and amazingly good at sex. Anise had loved them both.

There was a faint noise behind them and Dean spun to face Major Carter. “Are you alright?” the woman asked, concerned.

“I’m good,” Dean said, wiping away Anise’s unmanly tears with a sweep of his arm. “Anise needed a minute,” he explained. 

Major Carter nodded in understanding. “Did you know him?”

Anise helped Dean resist the urge to roll his eyes. How could have Dean possibly even met the man? He’d never even been off the planet before. “No, I didn’t,” Dean said with a lot less snark than he might have wanted, “but Anise did. His name was Bellis.”

“Bellis?” The Major repeated, confusion clear on her face. “I thought he was, um, older.”

Anise blinked, taken aback. She’d forgotten that Major Carter had once been a host. How strange it must be for her to be alone in her own head. “His host Iyarus was killed shortly after Jolinar. This”-Anise gestured to the body-“was Jothy.”

“Are you kids ready to move out?” Colonel O’Neill interrupted their awkward little conversation. Major Carter looked abashed at the implied criticisms, but Anise moved to join the Colonel at the door with Dean’s head held high. The Colonel eyed them critically as they approached. “You think you can handle point?” he asked Dean.

Dean grinned. “I’d handle it better with one of those babies,” he said, gesturing to the P90 the Colonel cradled in his arms. He still couldn’t believe they hadn’t even let him try one at the range. He had never used one before, but Dean was sure he would have gotten the hang of it. 

The Colonel clutched his gun tighter to his chest and gestured Dean onward. Dean drew his Berreta and stepped into the corridor keeping a careful eye on side passages and alcoves. Colonel O’Neill fell in beside him with the rest of the team trailing behind. “So, where are we headed here?” the older man asked.

Anise hesitated. They had an understanding and while Dean could relay the information, it would be inconvenient and time consuming. **_Look, its cool_** , Dean assured her. **_You do the talking and I’ll hold the gun. Then later we can try walking and chewing gum._**

**_What?_** Why must the Tau’ri be so confusing?

Dean sighs silently. **_Just answer the man_**.

The tunnel they were in ran for nearly 20 feet before it forked into three paths; left, right and center. “The outpost is built on the remains of an Ancient compound,” Anise began as they walked. Dean, true to his word, held the gun steady. 

“Wait,” Dr. Jackson interrupted eagerly from behind. “Do you mean the Ancients, the gate builders?” he asked excitedly.

“Yes,” Anise nodded. “From what we have been able to tell, this was some sort of research facility. Much of the original structure has collapsed, but the main laboratory remained intact. There is a concealed passageway to it accessible via a sleeping cell off the right-hand corridor. My contact on Dualla indicated that Anubis was looking for the laboratory.”

Explanations done, they proceeded right at the intersection with Major Carter, Dr. Jackson and Teal’c half-turning to cover the other tunnels. The right-handle corridor was lined on both sides by sleeping cells and storage rooms. It ran a good 30 feet before making a sharp turn that eventually connected back to the main tunnel to form a triangle. The sleeping cell with the secret passageway was on the right, half way to the turn.

They had not gone far into the tunnel when they heard the distinct sound of stomping mailed boots and Jaffa armor coming down the corridor towards them. Colonel O’Neill silently held up his fist and the team halted behind them. He made a series of complicated gestures that Dean translated as a call to fall back. Keeping their guns trained on the approaching threat, they began to creep backwards through the tunnel. They hadn’t made it far when a shock grenade rolled out of a sleeping cell on the left.

“Aw, crap,” groaned Colonel O’Neill and the world went white.

*****

They awoke in the dark. The floor was hard and cold and there were others they could hear but not see. “Oy,” Colonel O’Neill groaned off to their left. “Is everyone alright?”

“I can’t see,” Dean announced to the room at large. His heart rate picked up markedly as he wondered if he might not be blind. 

**_It is from the grenade_** , Anise explained as she worked to tamp down Dean’s panicked rush of adrenalin. **_The effects are temporary,_** she continued even as Major Carter said the same thing aloud. 

The room swam into view as Dean’s vision began to return. Anise could make out four SG-1-shaped olive-green blobs, but no signs of guards. From the color of the walls, they were not on a ship, which, she supposed, was a good thing. She couldn’t make out enough of the room to determine where, exactly, in the compound they were. 

“Guns are gone,” Dr. Jackson reported sounding more resigned than surprised. Anise supposed that, after the number of times SG-1 had been captured, they were probably used to it.

“Yah think?” snarked the Colonel sounding annoyed. “What about GDOs?”

Dean frowned as the conversation continued around them. His Beretta was gone, true, but he could still feel the comforting pressure of the knife in his boot and the Colt 1911 at the small of his back. **_Dude, I can’t believe they didn’t search us. Are these guys seriously that stupid?_**

Anise considered. Jaffa were not stupid, they just thought differently. The Tau’ri may have careful procedures for clearing a room to ensure they did not walk into a trap, but a Jaffa would simply stride forward, confident in the will of their gods and their own strength. **_Among the Jaffa it is considered dishonorable to carry concealed weapons_** , Anise explained.

Dean snorted in disgust. **_So, that would be a yes then._** Jaffa maybe believe in their gods and in their honor but Dean believed in getting things done. Boy Scouts and Marines were always prepared and, while he’d never been either, Dean took their messages to heart. You needed a tool, you carried it, simple as that. “Ah, guys,” he said, reaching behind his back, “about those guns...”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When it comes to escaping, Dean has some pretty useful toys.

The gun in Dean’s hand was a chromed M1911 with ivory grips. Jack had carried that model sidearm back before they phased it out in the late ‘80s, but Dean’s was emphatically not government issue. “Where the hell did you get _that_?” Carter asked, beating Jack to the punch.

Dean studied the gun in his hand, turning it this way and that to catch the light. “Sixteenth birthday present,” he said, smiling gently at the memory. “Pretty sweet right?” He asked, grinning up at them.

“Wait,” said Daniel pinching his temple like it hurt he hadn’t thought of this before. “ _That’s_ why you insisted on seeing your car before we left.”

Dean shrugged. “Yeah, and, well, I couldn’t just abandon her without-” Dean broke off, flushing with embarrassment at the incredulous looks on their faces. Jack just shook his head slowly. It figured the kid with the cherry classic car would call it a her. Jack wondered if “she” had a name. Either way, it went a long way to explaining Dean’s apparent lack of a girlfriend. No woman wanted to compete with a car. 

“Is not your vehicle an inanimate object?” Teal’c asked with straight-faced seriousness. Jack had long since given up trying to tell if that was honest confusion or Jaffa-brand sarcasm. As humor went it was pretty damn dry, but Jack wouldn’t put it past the big guy.

Dean transitioned smoothly from embarrassment to annoyance like a man with plenty of practice. “Look, are we gonna sit here and talk about how I anthropomorphize my car, or are we gonna use this” -he held up the gun-“and get the hell out of here.”

“Let me see.” Jack held his hand out for the gun. The Colt M1911 was at least 10 years old with well-worn grips and a couple of modifications, but it was clearly well cared for and the action was smooth. The clip was a fairly typical aftermarket with 8+1 rounds. It wasn’t his P90, but yeah, Jack could get something done with this. “Got a spare clip?”

Dean fished it out and handed it over without a word. He started to look mutinous though when Jack pocketed it. “Can I have my gun back now?” There was a distinct edge to Dean’s voice.

Jack rubbed his finger along the barrel. He had no doubt about Dean’s ability to shoot. He had been damn good back on the range with Beretta and was probably downright scary with a gun he’d had since he was sixteen. On the other hand, proficiency on the range didn’t always translate into combat situations. “You ever kill?” Jack asked, holding Dean’s gaze with his own. 

Dean blinked, clearly taken aback by Jack’s line of questioning. “Another person?” He licked his lips and swallowed hard, looking uncomfortable with the idea. “No.”

Jack nodded. He’d thought as much but Teal’c looked surprised by the revelation. “A gun is a weapon of war,” he rumbled. “Why do you own it if you do not intend to kill?”

Daniel opened his mouth, probably to deliver a lecture on the Second Amendment and American gun culture, but Dean beat him to it. “I’m a P.I.,” he explained. “Missing persons and cold-case murders mostly. My line of work, a gun’s a useful tool even if you aren’t going around shooting people with it.”

Jack blinked, trying to wrap his mind around Dean Winchester, private eye. He would have pegged the kid more as a college student or possibly a mechanic. On the other hand, it made a certain amount of sense; Dean was Sam Spade and Anise was the alluring and mysterious client he couldn’t turn down. Missing Tok’ra were another case, just a little further from the office. Jack already knew Dean was the kind of guy who stopped on the highway to give random strangers CPR. Was he in the detective for the satisfaction of nailing the bad guy, the warm, fuzzy feeling from reuniting a family with their loved one or was it just a good way to pick up chicks? Either way, he’d managed to avoid getting blood on his hands and Jack aimed to keep it that way. 

Jack met Dean’s eyes as he made a big show of stashing the gun at the small of his back. The kid looked pretty pissed off about it, but then his eyes got the same look Jacob’s did when he was chatting with Selmac and, after a minute, Dean gave Jack a curt nod of agreement. That settled, Jack turned to the rest of the team. “Okay campers, here’s the plan.”

*****

According to Anise, their “cell” was actually an empty storage room on the middle corridor not far from where all three came back together. A quick check revealed just two guards outside, but the proximity of the hallway junction meant reinforcements would be right on them once shots were fired. There was no way to mask the sound of the M1911 so speed would be of the essence.

Jack burst out of the cell, firing as he went. The Jaffa’s helmet made a head-shot impossible and it took four rounds before he managed to pierce the guard’s armor. The guy went down in a heap against the wall and Jack kicked the staff weapon out of his limp hands. He wasn’t dead yet, his feet were still twitching, but he was far enough along another bullet would be a waste.

Even as Jack was still firing, Teal’c was on the second guard. The hallway was too confined for the other Jaffa to bring his staff weapon to bear and Jack heard, rather than saw, Teal’c slam his opponent into the wall. Daniel and Carter moved to secure the dead guard’s weapons and cover their rear as Jack turned to help Teal’c. The big guy was wrestling on the floor, grappling for control of the zat. Even as Jack moved in, Teal’c managed to grab the weapon and give the guard a double dose.

“Kree,” a third Jaffa bellowed as he charged around the corner and down the hall towards them. He was young and stupid, running at them full tilt with helmet off, armor undone and staff weapon un-primed. Jack and Teal’c brought their weapons to bear as the Jaffa finally primed his, but, before anyone could fire, a knife caught the guard in the throat. 

The Jaffa gurgled pathetically, spurting blood as he sunk to the floor. He dropped his staff weapon, hands pawing weakly at the knife’s hilt before going still. “Where the hell did _that_ come from?”

“Eleventh birthday present.” Dean’s voice sounded hollow. Jack turned to see the kid standing there, arm still outstretched from the throw. He was so pale each freckle looked like it had been drawn with magic marker and he looked like he was wanted to bawl, toss his cookies or both. Jack reached out to lower the boy’s arm and found he was trembling. 

So much for Jack’s plan to spare him the experience. He’d love to give Dean time to deal, cry, throw up, whatever, but right here, right now, it wasn’t happening. “Pull it together, kid.” Jack felt like a prime asshole for saying it, but sometimes that’s what being a CO was about; keeping your people alive to freak out later.

Dean took a deep breath and, with a flash of the eyes, Anise was in charge. “We must go,” he said, shaking off Jack’s hand like _he’d_ been the one holding up the show. “More will come.” He paused for a second over the body of the Jaffa before he snagged Dean’s knife and the zat. “Come.” Anise lead the way and SG-1 followed.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The team finds the lab and has a tough decision to make.

They somehow managed to make it to the lab without encountering any more Jaffa. The sleeping cell with the hidden tunnel had been tossed and there was blood smeared on the walls but, despite Dean’s repeated instance that this is all a trap, the only one waiting for them was Mysia lying face-up in a puddle of her own blood. Her hair was spread around her in a golden corona and her eyes stared blankly. Anise knelt to close her dead sister’s eyelids and found it surprisingly difficult with the rigor mortis. SG-1 stepped awkwardly around them.

Teal’c, good soldier that he was, moved to cover the door, but the rest of the team wandered through the lab, gapping open-mouthed at the specimen jars and fanciful machinery. Anise supposed her initial reaction had been much the same. It was amazing what one got used to. She watched Major Carter attempt to play with an Ancient computer programed in a language she couldn’t possibly read. Mysia had been like that too, Anise recalled before she pushed the thought away and rose to her feet. 

**_Dude,_** Dean said, his thoughts equal parts awe and attempt at distraction, **_this place is so old school scifi. All it needs is one of those lightening things and a wild-haired nutjob in a lab coat._** Anise felt their lips quirking at the mental image and carefully smoothed her face as she approached the Tau’ri.

“We believe this place was bio-medical research facility,” Anise explained. The lab held a wide range of biological material from plant matter to fetuses from twenty different species. There were hundreds of chemical compounds from poisons to performance enhancers. “They seemed to have been working on a number of projects initially, but eventually they focused their research on finding a cure for a particular virus.”

Dr. Jackson turned excitedly from the computer display he had been reading. “It must have been The Plague.” Anise wasn’t sure how it was possible, but she could actually hear the capital letters in that sentence. A plague among the Ancients would explain both the intensity of their research as well as why the facility had been abandoned, but the Tok’ra had never run across a reference to one before. 

“Indeed,” rumbled Teal’c from behind them. “This facility is within subspace bubble generated by the device on P4X-639,” he said as though that statement made any sense. Where was P4X-639 and what, in Egeria’s name, was a subspace bubble?

Colonel O’Neill nodded in absent-minded agreement as he looked around. “Great,” he said, clapping and then rubbing hands together. “So, how do we blow it up?”

“BLOW IT UP?” Dr. Jackson shrilled, his voice cracking. “We can’t just” -his hand fluttered helplessly beside his head as he struggled to find the words- “destroy what could possibly be the discovery of a lifetime.”

“Meaning of life stuff?” the Colonel dead-panned and Anise repressed the urge to punch the man. The Tok’ra had been here less than a year, barely scratching the surface of what this place had to offer, and already they had discovered chemical compounds that made the effects of the Atanik armbands look like a caffeine rush. There was not telling what else the Ancients’ research might reveal.

“We have already learned much from our time here,” Anise explained as gently as possible. Dr. Jackson may have the luxury of yelling like a petulant child, but Colonel O’Neill had long since made it clear he was not a fan of Anise and she could not afford to have her words ignored. “If we destroy this facility now we will lose an incomparable source of information.”

Dr. Jackson nodded emphatically and Major Carter joined them in their campaign to force the Colonel to see reason. “Sir, Daniel’s right,” she told her superior. “Our mission is to secure technologies that may be of use against the Goa’uld. I think this” - she gestured at the lab at large-“qualifies.”

“The key word there, Carter, is _secure_.” He put the word in air quotes. “We have five people, three zats, fourteen rounds and no back-up against an unknown number of enemy combatants. Securing” -again with the air quotes- “ is going to be a problem.”

**_Man’s got a point,_** agreed Dean. **_We’re pretty much at the Alamo here._** Anise shuffled through her host’s memories of a hunt there and found herself most distressed by the comparison. Surely the situation was nowhere near as dire. It wasn’t as though they had such an absurdly large defensive perimeter and they were hidden after all.

Teal’c, it seemed, did not share her assessment. “We will not be able to hold this position against a full scale attack,” he announced matter-of-factly, the depth of his voice granting the statement the gravity the Colonel’s sarcasm lacked. “We can not allow this facility to fall into the hands of the Goa’uld.”

Dr. Jackson and Major Carter seemed to consider their friend’s words and Dean added his voice to the cause of destruction. “Dude, why are we still arguing about this?” he asked. “I’m all in favor of saving people and fighting evil, but I’ll be damned if I’m gonna die because you three want to play with something shiny.”

**_Saving people? Fighting evil?_** Anise asked dryly. **_I think you’ve confused being a Tok’ra with hunting._** Her mother had believed in, and died for, such things, but not Anise. Tok’ra was a way of life, constantly on edge, fighting for survival on the margins of Goa’uld society. Her hosts had burned with vengeance and loss, eager to study, fight and die for the cause and so Anise had burned too, but it was not the righteous fire of Dean and Egeria.

**_And you know what else Tok’ra and hunting have in common?_** Dean plowed through her sarcasm. **_Family. That’s your sister over there._** He gestured furiously, drawing strange looks from SG-1 as they watched the silent argument. **_She died trying to keep the Goa’uld from getting this. If that was my-_** he broke of the thought before he could imagine his Sam dead and took a deep breath. **_Are you seriously just gonna let them ‘cause it’s too cool to blow up? This place has samples of a freakin’ Ancient plague, for god sakes. We can’t let them get their hands on that._**

Anise gazed at her fallen sister and knew her host was right. Mysia had been a most dedicated researcher, but she had come here to die and take the lab with her. Dr. Jackson turned back to Colonel O’Neill to press his point but for Anise the discussion was done. They would take the data crystals and research notes, but everything else must go. Anise took a deep breath and succumbed to the inevitable. “We blow it up.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So, how do you blow up an alien lab?

“Sweet.” Anise had seen the light, Carter seemed to have reigned in her inner science geek and even Daniel was getting that slump-shouldered, pissed-off look that meant he was resigned to the inevitable and hating every minute of it. Jack grinned at Dean. He didn’t have a clue what the kid had said to the Tok’ra, but now, if he could just get Daniel to stop looking like they’d run over his puppy, then they’d be all set. “So, back to the original question. How do we blow it up?”

Anise blinked in surprise. “Can’t you just” -he waved his hand like a magician with a wand-“blow it up?”

Geez, you blow up one sun and suddenly everyone expects miracles. “For crying out loud, we’re not the damn explosives fairies. We need C4 and” -Jack patted the empty pockets of his tactical vest- “ooh, fresh out.”

“Sir,” said Carter, her tone vaguely reproachful in the face of all the sarcasm. “At least one of these” -she gestured to the rows and rows of jars- “has to have something volatile enough to act as an explosive.” Jack beamed at the Major. Where there’s a will there’s a bomb. Jack had taught his kids well. 

“Yeah,” Daniel snorted, clearly still bitter about the whole blowing up yet another priceless historical artifact thing. “But do you really want to experiment with that?” He asked, picking up and studying a jar of what looked like neon orange sugar cubes.

Carter frowned in the face of Daniel’s negativism, plucking the jar from his hands. “If nothing else we can always cannibalize one of the staff weapons for the naqahdah and detonate it with one of the bullets, but I assume the Tok’ra have identified most of these compounds,” she said, looking expectantly at Anise. 

The Tok’ra turned from the Major to consider the giant wall of chemicals. “Oh!” he exclaimed, eyes literally lighting up with excitement. He grabbed a jar filled with a thick, silvery liquid and held it up like it was the miracle blender from some late-night infomercial. “The Ancients called this contrasal. It reacts explosively with salt.”

“We do not have salt,” Teal’c pointed out reasonably from his post at the door.

Jack wasn’t quite sure which one was in charge, but the look on Dean’s face was extra smug, even for a Tok’ra. “Salt,” Dean declared, holding up a little plastic tube of the stuff. He put it down on the table beside to jar of contrasal and pulled out another one. “Lighter fluid,” he announced, “and” -he dove into his pockets again “lighter, ” he finished with a flourish, lighting a brief flame before setting it on the table. 

Jack looked from Dean to his pile o’stuff and back. Salt? Seriously? Jack could understand the guns, knives, ammo, and lighter, but it took a special kind of over-preparedness to bring salt on a trip to another planet. “Anything else?” Jack wouldn’t be surprised; the kid was like a Boy Scout with Mary Poppin’s carpetbag for pockets. 

Dean grinned mischievously, fishing out yet another little tube. “M&M’s,” he said, popping some in his mouth and passing the rest to Jack. Even as the kid swallowed his candy there was a subtle shift in his stance that signaled that Anise was behind the wheel and back to business. “Major Carter,” the Tok’ra began, “the contrasal reacts near instantaneously with salt. We will need a detonation device that will allow us sufficient time to reach minimum safe distance. I will advise you in it’s construction.” 

Carter’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “I can handle it, thanks,” she growled, showing remarkable restraint in not punching Anise in the face. The Major put up with the Tok’ra know-it-all crap from her dad and the snake in her dad’s head, but Jack knew, if there was one thing that pissed Carter off, it was pompous idiots telling her how to do her job. Well, that and sexist assholes and people who ate the last serving of blue Jell-O. 

Anise studied Carter’s face and wisely decided that discretion was the better part of valor or however that cliché went. “Dr. Jackson,” Anise settled for bossing Daniel around instead, “you will assist me in collection the data crystals and notebooks.” 

While Daniel hopped to with an eagerness he rarely showed for any of Jack’s orders and Carter began plotting how best to MacGyver a bomb without the benefit of duct tape, Jack fell back to join Teal’c at the door. “This is gonna take a while,” he sighed, tossing a couple of M&M’s into his mouth before sharing the rest. “We should see what we can do about our defensive perimeter until they’re ready to blow this popsicle stand.” 

Teal’c nodded solemnly, crunching his M&M’s. “Indeed.”

*****

As defensive positions went, this one kind of sucked. A lot. What little furniture the sleeping cell contained had been upturned and carefully, and quietly, positioned to form half-assed defensive fighting positions. They were laughably inadequate protection from anything stronger than a zat blast, but were still better than nothing. There was no way their escape had gone unnoticed and their only tactical advantage at this point was that the Goa’uld would have to do a room-to-room search to find them. Of course, they’d loose that slim “advantage” the second they blew the lab, but they’d just have to burn that bridge when they came to it.

“Jaffa, kree,” a Goa’uld shouted from down the hall. Jack’s grasp of the language was pretty shaky, even after his little mind-meld with Kanan, but he was pretty sure he caught the word “search” in the Goa’uld continued instructions. The loud clomping of armor-clad feet as the Jaffa fanned out confirmed his suspicions. 

Jack and Teal’c exchanged a quick, meaningful glance before falling back to the secret passageway. They had already re-hung the strategically placed wall hanging that concealed the sliding panel of rock which served as the door to the tunnel. Now, ducking behind the hanging, they slid the panel most of the way closed, leaving it just enough open that they could see and hear what was happening back in the room. Teal’c assumed a guard position, priming his staff weapon, while Jack jogged down the tunnel to see how their bomb was coming along.

“Company’s coming, kids,” Jack announced, stepping around the dead Tok’ra still sprawled on the floor. Ideally, their company would soon be leaving to go search somewhere else. Of course, they were SG-1 (plus guest) and with their luck they’d have maybe 30 seconds before the Jaffa overran the place. “Let’s wrap it up.”

“I just need a minute, sir,” Carter said from where she was crouched on the floor by some crazy Rube-Goldberg device. It looked like one of Doc Brown’s inventions from the beginning of _Back to the Future_ , only instead of opening cans of dog food, this one went boom....hopefully anyway.

Over at the main lab table, Anise and Daniel had amassed a small pile of data crystals which they were now frantically trying to cram into their pockets. Jack joined them and began stuffing the things in his own tactical vest. “Anything I can do?” he asked Carter. Saving the data crystals would be a moot point if they were going to be stuck in here. 

“No.. I...ah.” There was a loud click and Carter straightened, rubbing her hands and smiling with the satisfaction of a job well done. “We’re all set now, sir.”

Shouts in Goa’uld drifted down the passageway followed by the unmistakable sound of a staff weapon firing. Daniel and Anise froze in the middle of squirreling away the last of the data crystals and went for their weapons. “Good,” Jack said, drawing his own borrowed sidearm. “Blow it.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The bad guys have found them but Goonies never say 'die.'

Dean was both wrong and right. The situation wasn’t anything like the Alamo, but the results would be the same. They were trapped between a lab with a bomb and a room full of armed Jaffa in a corridor too narrow for them to make any real use of their weapons. Teal’c’s bulk blocked the doorway effectively making it impossible for anyone else to fire. He was holding his own for now, shielded in part behind the still partially closed door, but it was only a matter of time before he fell.

**_I’m sorry I dragged you into this._**

_**Hey.**_ Something in Dean’s mental voice cut through Anise’s guilt and despair like a slap to the face. **_Goonies never say die!_** Anise caught a flash of skeletal pirates and plucky kids, popcorn at the drive-in and Sam from _Lord of the Rings_ and shook her head. She wasn’t a Goonie and their story wasn’t going to have a happy and photogenic ending. 

In the corridor, up a head of them, Major Carter had apparently come to the same realization. “Colonel,” she said, laying her hand across his arm and drawing the man’s attention away from his futile attempt to find a clear shot. “I just wanted to say” -she took a deep breath- “It’s been an honor to serve with you, sir.”

Colonel O’Neill’s face was strangely blank in the corridor’s dim light as he looked from the Major’s face to her hand on his arm. “We who are about to die and all that Roman crap?” he asked dryly. “Don’t give up on me yet, Carter,” he said, shrugging off her hand and resuming his firing position. “We’re getting out of here.”

“Goonies never say die,” Anise murmured, shaking her head in wonderment. The Tau’ri couldn’t all be like that, not if Major Carter was sensible enough to know when the battle was lost. Being blended with a man who made bad jokes and obscure cultural references in the face of almost certain death was a strangely heady experience. If Colonel O’Neill was as much like Dean as he seemed to be, Anise wasn’t surprised Kanan had actually believed he could successfully infiltrate Ba’al’s stronghold to rescue Shallan. 

“What?” Dr. Jackson asked, turning to give her a look like she had just sprouted an additional head. 

“Goonies never say die,” Anise repeated before she recalled that Dr. Jackson had never even seen _Star Wars_ and thus was unlikely to understand a reference to a 1980's children’s film. She sighed and gestured to the Colonel with her chin. “He does not accept defeat.”

Dr. Jackson looked back to where his friend was attempting to find a way to shoot around Teal’c before turning back to Anise, a gentle smile playing about his lips. “No, I suppose not,” he agreed. “That’s probably why we’re still-”

Dr. Jackson broke off abruptly as Teal’c was hit with a blast from a zat'nik'tel and toppled like a felled tree. Colonel O’Neill somehow managed to catch the Jaffa and let loose a string of amusingly crude Tau’ri curses as his dead weight began to drag them both to the floor. “Get him off,” he grunted and Major Carter scrambled to help. The Major managed to drag Teal’c clear of her commanding officer, but it was already too late. 

A Jaffa in full armor appeared in the mouth of the passageway, shoving the door fully open, taking away the last of their admittedly pathetic and limited cover. The Colonel had Dean’s Colt up in a heartbeat, firing two rounds in quick succession that bounced off the Jaffa’s armor and ricocheted down the corridor. Anise hit the deck and looked back up just in time to see Colonel O’Neill fall from a zat'nik'tel blast. 

**_They’re not aiming to kill,_** Dean pointed out as Major Carter and Dr. Jackson return fire. _**They’re trying to capture us.**_ The Major, still standing, aimed high while Dr. Jackson, on his knees, aimed low and the Jaffa was dead before he hit the ground. Another came to take his place.

_**What?**_ Anise asked distractedly. She had always avoided combat and Dean, for all his skill with the pistol currently clutched in Colonel O’Neill’s unconscious hand, had never actually fired a zat'nik'tel before. The hands in a death grip around their weapon were slick with sweat and, as much as Anise wanted to blame that on Dean, she had a sneaking suspicion she was the one panicking.

The Jaffa in the doorway fired a single shot that somehow managed to catch Major Carter and Dr. Jackson both. The blast was too diffuse to knock them both out, but it certainly sent them down and twitching. Anise felt their eyes flash and heart race as the adrenalin flooded Dean’s body like a monsoon. 

Suddenly, a hard mental shove pushed Anise to the back of their mind and out of control. Their heart rate dropped and their hands steaded as Dean took charge. The Jaffa in the doorway smirked nastily and Dean smirked right back. _**They’re taking prisoners and we have the element of surprise.**_

_**What surprise?**_ Anise asked even as Dean broke into a stumbling charge over the unconscious bodies of SG-1. The Jaffa’s eyes widened comically in the split second before Dean caught him in a flying tackle that would have made every one of his high school gym teachers proud. They hit the floor in a painful clatter of armor and Dean fired the zat'nik'tel into the Jaffa’s stomach before he had time to collect himself. A zat'nik'tel isn’t like a gun though, and the tingle from the blast made them gasp with pain and sent their arms spasming. That was probably why they were too distracted to do anything about the butt of a staff weapon that slammed into the side of their head a second later.

*****

Anise returned to the world through a splitting headache. The floor was a lot farther away than it ought to be and it took her a minute to figure out that she was being held on her knees with her hands behind her back by a pair of somewhat blurry-looking Jaffa. Their vision and stomach swam unpleasantly as Dean raised his head. Anise struggled to suppress his gag reflex and tried to deal with the pain. Head injuries were tricky at best to heal, but at least they hadn’t been out long. Carter’s bomb had not gone off yet and SG-1 were starting to moan their way to consciousness in the arms of their captors. Dean’s gun sat on the top of a heap of their weapons a few feet away and he planned on going for it the second the room stopped moving.

“So,” drawled the Goa’uld, sweeping into the room with the theatrics so typical of his kind. The glint of light off his gaudy armor made Anise’s eyes hurt. “You thought you could prevent us from finding the laboratory,” he intoned dramatically, swooping down on SG-1 like a hawk on a hapless chipmunk. “My Lord Anubis will have the Ancients’ Plague.”

Colonel O’Neill smiled brightly. “Great! We’ll send along some Kleenex and you let us know how that works out for him.”

It took a moment for the Goa’uld to wrap his mind around the Colonel’s sarcasm, but when it did his lips twitched into a snarl as he backhanded the man. “Tau’ri dog.”

He turned from the humans and rounded on Anise, his eyes flashing with temper. “Tok’ra, you will tell me where to find the samples or you will die.”

Anise looked into his eyes and saw it was more _and_ and less _or_. In this situation she knew her brothers and sisters would probably make some pronouncement about how the fierce spirit of the Tok’ra would live on without her, but Carter’s bomb was taking it’s sweet time and things would be so much better if the Goa’uld where here and distracted until it actually blew up. “Bwahaha,” she let Dean say. 

“What?” The Goa’uld blinked, his face a mask of confusion. 

“Bwahaha,” Dean repeated. “You know, classic bad guy laugh? It’s traditional in situations like this.”

The Goa’uld’s face darkened with rage as his eyes glowed with anger. “Insolent fool,” he snarled. “You will pay for your impertinence,” he promised, raising his arm and activating his hand device. 

Pain exploded in Anise’s head like a supernova. She was distantly aware of a man screaming and it took her a few minute to realize that it was Dean or her or possibly both. Something warm and wet was dripping from their nose and left ear and large black splotches were starting to block out the light of the hand devise. 

Anise almost didn’t notice when Carter’s bomb finally went off. The noise seemed to come from miles away and the flash was nothing compared to the piercing light of the hand device. The shock wave hit her like a wrecking ball wrapped in pillows and the hand device abruptly cut off as the Goa’uld was flung away. Suddenly the ground was hard against her cheek and Dean’s gun was practically under her nose. 

_**Mine,**_ Dean thought as he reached for the weapon and the world tilted and spun around them like a carnival ride. A blurry shape in bright armor grabbed their shoulder and Dean fired in it’s general direction until the clip was empty and the shape had gone away. He rolled onto his back, clutching the gun to his chest like a child with a favorite stuffed animal. _**Mine.**_

Colonel O’Neill’s face came abruptly into focus, his lips moving furiously without any sound. Hands hauled them to their feet and a second later the view was blocked by a olive-drab covered butt. They were being jostled up and down with something hard under their stomach. _**Wha?**_ Anise attempted to thrash free but only succeeded in setting off a series of secondary explosions in her head. The hallway filled with smoke and something was very wrong. 

The hallway and butt disappeared behind a wave of gray until the cold rush of the wormhole snapped Dean’s eyes open. Dark shapes leaned over him and a man shouted his name from the far end of a long tunnel. “Dad?” Dean moaned. He wanted his father, he wanted Sam. He wished his mother was here. 

His mind was broken and slipping and Anise realized with startling clarity that he was dying. There were people all around her, people she could jump to and save herself, but she’d been on stolen time since Freya died. Anise of the Tok’ra would die with honor _**Live well, my friend,**_ she cried and threw herself into the healing. Hands hefted Dean’s body onto a gurney and the world went black one last time.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John deals with a case and wonders where the hell his son is.

John hung up the phone feeling pretty damn annoyed. Things had been a little strained between them since Sam left and there had been something with that girl in Ohio back in the spring, but enough was enough. Sleeping in when there was a job lined up was unacceptable. If Dean thought he could pull this passive-aggressive shit just because Sam wasn’t here to do it, then he had another thing coming. 

By lunchtime the following day, John was assaulting a cheeseburger with undue malice and mentally reviewing the details of the dressing down Dean would get once he showed up. Did he think this was some kind of game? People, kids, where dying. If Dean was off getting drunk or laid instead of doing his damn job he was gonna be in some serious shit when John caught up with him. 

The next morning over breakfast the local news station playing at the diner ran a story about the latest missing child. Little Missy Katt had gone missing around 11 the night before while John was leaving another irrate voicemail on Dean’s phone. Well, John was done with waiting for back-up that wasn’t coming. It took another day to find her, but in the end it was John walking, well, limping, out of the abandoned building with a live little girl beside him and a dead monster behind. That night he stitched up the gash in his leg with a bottle of Jack for the pain and wondered how he had managed to raise sons who thought they could just walk away from him, from the job, like it didn’t mean a thing.

As the following day’s hangover started to burn off and take the anger with it, it began to dawn on John that something was wrong. This wasn’t Dean. He’d never let John down, not if he could help it, and he’d never disobeyed a direct order, not since he was ten. If Dean wasn’t here, it wasn’t because he’d got sick of being under John’s thumb or decided he wanted to go to college, it was because something had happened. John had been sitting there, brooding like a teenager, and for all he knew his boy might have been lying in a ditch somewhere. The realization sent him back bowing to the porcelain god, but this time it had nothing to do with alcohol.

For the next four days John did everything short of filing a missing person’s report to find his boy. He activated the GPS on Dean’s phone, but Dean was either out of satellite range or his phone was broken. John called every hospital between Boulder and Dean’s last job and used one of his fake badges to find any police reports involving the Impala, but there was nothing. John even called Sam and listened to him ask if anyone was there for a full minute and a half before hanging up. It was like the road had just opened up to swallow his son. 

Nine days after John first hung up the phone, Dean showed up on the doorstep of John’s hotel room. He looked pale with hollows under his eyes and a fading bruise across his temple, but nothing seemed broken and he wasn’t gushing blood anywhere. In the parking lot behind him, John could see the Impala, shiny safe without a scratch on it. The worry that had been building up inside over days popped like balloon and left behind the frustration bubbling to the surface. “Damn it, Dean, where the hell have you been?” John found himself yelling without quite meaning to.

A woman in the parking lot shepherding her small children to a waiting minivan glared in disapproval and Dean went even paler. “I, I...”

John growled in frustration. The doorway wasn’t the place for this conversation and they sure as shit needed to have it. He yanked Dean into the room, feeling the pull of the stitches across his thigh, and slammed the door shut. “I needed you here, Dean,” he yelled. “Now what was so damn important that you couldn’t do your job?” 

Dean looked away and down before his face tightened and his head came sharply up. “I was possessed, okay?” he shouted, sounding so much like his brother it was downright eerie. “I was possessed,” he repeated, more quietly this time. 

The words hit John like a baseball bat to the solar plexus. A demon, maybe the demon, had been inside his son, wearing his skin, rifling through his thoughts. John wanted to throw up, he wanted to hit someone. He wished he had holy water. “Christo.”

Dean’s eyes didn’t go black, but they got a sad, lost look that John hadn’t seen since Mary died. “I’m not...” -he took a deep breath- “She’s gone. She’s dead.”

There was something broken in Dean’s voice and it made John’s fist clench with the need to do something. He’d never been good at comfort though so he went for practical instead. “Do we need to clean this up?”

From Dean’s wide-eyed shock it was clear that hadn’t even occurred to him. “No.” He shook his head. “Everything’s” - he swallowed- “as clean as it’s gonna get.”

John nodded slowly, wondering just how much Dean actually remembered anyway. Dean stared through the carpet, stuck in his own thoughts and John shifted uncomfortably. He cleared his throat but couldn’t think of what to say. Dean looked at him expectantly and John said the only thing he could. “I’ve got another job lined up. You up for it?”


End file.
